


ghost visit

by starstrung



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Prague
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:47:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28462632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstrung/pseuds/starstrung
Summary: Zolf doesn’t even know Sasha’s in the room until he’s already stamped his wet feet on the dirty doormat, hung up his coat, taken off his boots, and put the kettle on. And even then, it’s clear that the only reason he sees her is that she wants him to. Just one slim shadow peeling itself off from all the other shadows in the room.
Relationships: Sasha Racket/Zolf Smith
Comments: 21
Kudos: 38





	ghost visit

Zolf doesn’t even know Sasha’s in the room until he’s already stamped his wet feet on the dirty doormat, hung up his coat, taken off his boots, and put the kettle on. And even then, it’s clear that the only reason he sees her is that she wants him to. Just one slim shadow peeling itself off from all the other shadows in the room.

His eyes suddenly focus on her and it’s like seeing a ghost.

“Sasha,” he says.

“Hey, boss,” she says, quiet.

He can’t quite make out her face, backlit as she is by the window. Zolf can still feel her eyes on him. He turns back to the kettle, which is just beginning to boil.

“Tea?” he says. He opens a packet of biscuits.

Suddenly she’s at his side like she appeared out of thin air. He very carefully doesn’t flinch, but only because he’s used to it, still used to it, even after these weeks of not seeing her. She takes the biscuits and disappears to the other side of his tiny kitchen with them.

Zolf pours her a cup of tea, pushes it to the side for her, and turns around. He sees her for the first time.

She looks dead.

He doesn’t even realize that he’s sucked in a breath, that he’s stepping forward with a hand outstretched, already casting a healing spell. He doesn’t even think about it, just knows that she’s hurting. 

Sasha recoils from him, stepping out of his reach, into the doorway. “Don’t touch me,” she says, sharply.

“Fuck. Sorry,” Zolf says, dropping his arm. She’s in shadow again. He can’t see the gray dead of her skin, the sick yellow of her eyes. Only corpses look that way.

“You can’t just go around sending your healin’ into people without asking, Zolf,” Sasha chides. “Doesn’t agree with some of us.”

“Sasha, what happened to you?” Zolf says. She didn’t look this bad on the airship, or when they parted in Prague.

“Well, I’m technically undead. Bertie’s proper dead. And we’re going to Cairo next.”

Zolf retreats to the other side of the kitchen, and she warily steps in again, keeping her distance from him. His heart sinks. She never used to keep her distance from him. But that was before he left her.

“And what are you doing here, Sasha? I’m not coming back. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Sasha sits on the counter. She’s already on her second biscuit. Zolf took this room partially because it was designed for smaller folk, dwarves and halflings and the like, so Sasha has to scrunch her body in to keep her head from hitting a cupboard. She doesn’t seem uncomfortable though. Sasha’s always been good at fitting through tight spaces.

“That’s not why I’m here,” she says, her mouth full of biscuit.

“Then…?” Zolf says.

Sasha doesn’t say anything for a while. That silence has a lot of broken promises in it.

“Just missed you,” she says. Gods, Sasha flays him alive every time with that dead-eyed honesty. He saw her open like a book, all her viscera unfurling for him, and still Zolf thinks he might be the one cleaved in half.

“ _Sasha_ ,” he says, raw.

“No, it’s all right, though,” Sasha says, quickly. “Figured I could see you quick before we had to go, because I don’t exactly know when we’ll be back and all that, right?”

“How did you even find me?” Zolf asks.

Here, Sasha looks guilty. “Followed you a bit. Asked around the docks. They told me you’ve been workin’ jobs there. Found your room. Broke in. You might need to fix the latch on your window.”

“Right,” Zolf says. He notices that the biscuits packet in her hands is half empty. “You want something to eat that’s not just biscuits? I was going to make something.”

Sasha perks up. “You cook now? Do you know how to make eel?”

Zolf smiles, despite himself. “Still learning. Can’t cook eel quite yet. I can make you eggs and sausage.”

Sasha wrinkles her nose.

Even after everything, he can’t bear to let her down. “Tell you what, I’ll learn how to make eel. I’ll make it for you next time,” he says. 

He sees it in her face then, in the small pitying smile she gives him. Sasha doesn’t believe him. 

“Sure, boss,” she says anyway, and he loves her for it, even if he shouldn’t.

“How did Bertie die?” Zolf asks, cracking eggs into a bowl. He only gets half an eggshell in there, which is an improvement from last time. He’s learning, slowly. He likes that he’s learning.

“We were fighting Kafka, right. He was doing all this necromancer shit. Made Bertie suffocate. I’m the one who found him.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You ain’t sorry he died,” Sasha says, fast as a whip. “You tried to throw him off the airship that one time, remember?”

“I’m sorry you found him,” he clarifies.

“Oh,” Sasha says, like this has surprised her.

He stirs the eggs. He can’t remember if he already put salt in. He throws a pinch in just to be safe. There’s a tremor to his hands that wasn’t there before. He’s not upset that Bertie is dead, he’s _not_. He still remembers Bertie’s falcon crest stamped into Sasha’s back. He still remembers feeling all that fury.

“This is a nice place you’ve got,” Sasha says, after he’s stirred the eggs in silence for a bit.

Zolf looks around, skeptical. “Nice” is not a word that would be used to describe the room he rented for himself. It’s got a stove, a sink, and space for a bed. At night, he’s pretty sure he can hear rats in the wall.

“I’m sure Hamid has you staying at much nicer places,” he says.

“I guess,” Sasha says. “Some of these fancy places, right, the windows don’t even open all the way. It doesn’t make sense. What’re you supposed to do if there’s a fire?”

“Suppose rich people don’t have to worry about things like fire.”

“Hamid’s rich and _he_ sets things on fire all the time,” Sasha points out.

“That’s true,” he says.

“So it _doesn’t_ make sense,” Sasha says confidently.

“No, you’re right, it doesn’t make sense,” Zolf says. He pours eggs and sausage onto a plate for her. It’s the only plate he’s got, so he eats his own food out of the skillet.

“It doesn’t look too bad,” Sasha says, taking the plate. “Not as good as eel though.”

“Well, if you’ve got critiques on what I could improve, I’ll take them into consideration, yeah?” Zolf says with a smile.

It’s almost lovely, the way that Sasha immediately acts like she’s at home here. She finds a fork in his drawers without having to ask — probably because she went through his things when he wasn’t there — and sits on the window ledge to eat. He wants to caution her that the window at her back is still open, that if she loses her balance she could fall. But this is Sasha. She’s all cat grace and sharp edges. Zolf doesn’t think he’s ever seen her fall. He never wants to.

Zolf sits on the one chair he owns, and they eat together, in a peaceful quiet company. There are so many unspoken things lying between them, so many things he wants to ask her about. But Zolf lost the right to ask those things of her, so he just waits.

Sasha lets out a satisfied sigh when she finishes her plate. Zolf is gratified to see that she’s practically wiped it clean. 

“Yeah, not bad at all,” Sasha says. 

“Thanks,” Zolf says. Personally he thinks that he could have used less salt and maybe browned the sausage more. But Sasha’s enjoyment is real, and that gives him a warm enough feeling to make up for it.

“I’m glad, you know,” Sasha says. She has set her plate down, is curled up on the window ledge. It must be cold there, but she gives no sign of shivering. “Glad you got out. Sometimes it doesn’t feel worth it, you know.”

Zolf looks down at his hands, unable to speak. The guilt threatens to choke him.

“I think, after this, I might get out too,” she says quietly. And then, in a small hidden motion, she presses her hand to her mouth, as if in disbelief. That she could find herself saying such a thing.

It breaks Zolf’s heart. He is forced into motion — gets to his feet and takes Sasha’s other hand, squeezing it. “You can, Sasha. You will.”

Sasha squeezes his hand back, and then the moment ends. He pulls his hand away so that he doesn’t have to feel her drawing back first. Touching Sasha is always an exercise in watching for her walls to come back up.

He can still feel how cold her hand was in his. He opens his mouth to ask, but Sasha beats him to it.

“Yeah, all right, I _know_ , so you don’t have to tell me,” Sasha says.

“Come on, Sasha,” he says, pleading.

She curls up tighter on the windowsill. “Yeah, I’m like, a zombie now, I guess. Or something. They don’t really know. No one really knows. I guess you didn’t know either, when you checked.”

He’s never heard Sasha sound so bitter. But it’s said in that disaffected way of hers that always turns Zolf cold. Sometimes he worries that he cares for her more than she cares for herself.

Or maybe it’s the other way around.

“They’ve got healers in Cairo,” Zolf says. “They’ll be able to tell you. Better than I could.”

Sasha shrugs.

“You’d like the new member we picked up, by the way,” Sasha says. He can sense that she’s changing the subject, doesn’t begrudge her for it. “His name’s Grizzop, he’s really clever, right. Hates Wilde loads.”

That does make Zolf smile. Sasha sounds fond, warm. 

“When are you heading out?” he asks.

“In the morning,” Sasha says.

Zolf raises his eyebrows. “It’s late, shouldn’t you get some sleep?”

“Don’t really do much sleeping these days,” Sasha says.

Gods, if only he knew how to help her. But he’s never felt more useless.

“Then,” Zolf says, struggling to keep his voice level, “I can stay up with you.”

She tilts his head at him. “You’re tired, though. You’ve been workin’ at the docks all day. I saw it.”

He _is_ tired. His muscles ache, his bones feel heavy, the space between his eyes feels like it’s burning. But Zolf doesn’t want her to spend this night alone. It’s selfish of him.

“It’s all right, Zolf,” Sasha says. She smiles at him, a small gentle, forgiving thing. It sends a rush through him, of love, of loss, of a deep and profound wish that things could be better, that he could heal this for her, that he hadn’t failed her after all. 

She’s perched too high for him to kiss her forehead like he wants to do, so he takes her hand again and kisses it instead, feeling foolish. He hears Sasha take in a breath, and when he looks up, her eyes have gone wide.

He stumbles over his words. “Sorry, I — just, if you want to stay here, you can. You don’t have to sleep, or nothing. I’ll probably fall asleep. I am tired, like you said. But you could stay here, is what I’m saying.”

Sasha leans down from the windowsill and kisses him. It’s a quick, chaste thing, and then she’s already pulling away. He almost thinks she’s going to disappear out the window, like she was never here at all, just a ghost he dreamt of. But then, instead, Sasha is in his arms, her face pressed tight into his shoulder, cold all over. He can’t tell if it’s her shaking or if it’s him. He just holds her tight.

“Oh, my girl,” Zolf says softly, sadly.

“I’ll stay,” Sasha says, in one quiet breath. 

She takes off her coat, putting it beside the bed, within easy reach. He can tell how heavy it is when she sets it down, knows that there must be a truly fearsome number of daggers and knives concealed within it. She’s too-thin without it on, but no less dangerous, he knows.

When they crawl into the covers, Zolf does his best to give her space if she wants it, but it seems that, for tonight, Sasha is hungry for closeness. She folds up tight next to him, so icy cold that it knocks the breath out of him before his body heat begins to slowly warm them both back up. 

They are so close he can hear her pulse in his ear. It’s slow, much too slow, an eternity between each beat. 

But it’s there. Zolf holds onto that. Sasha is still fighting. No matter what, she’s still fighting.

 _I love you_ , he almost says. But Zolf has not earned the right to say that to her, so he doesn’t. He hopes Sasha knows anyway, that she feels it back. Maybe she does. As he slips away to sleep, he feels her kiss him again, missing his mouth, catching him somewhere on his cheek. He feels her breath against his neck. He’s sure she says something to him also.

In the coming months, he’ll wonder often about what those words could have been.


End file.
